#oh wait and the ones that said their wedding arc had ~no build up simply because they hadn't mentioned marriage before

[badjoices]

My Life With You

I. Move-in Day Dean and Cas move into a new home and start to build a life together with baby Jack.

[Read on AO3] | [Fic Masterpost]

The sun was sitting high in the sky, creeping towards the apex of its arc, when the U-Haul pulled up outside the modest two-storey on a quiet, tree-lined residential street. The crisp spring air was warm, moving through the green leaves and blush blossom with a quiet rustle. The sound of the late Sunday morning was largely void; defined by its absences more than anything; no children playing or parents chit-chatting over their hedges just yet, as most in the neighbourhood were making the most of the last lie-in of the week.

Except for Dean Winchester, and his better half Castiel, who had been up since the sun first began to peek over the horizon, packing, stacking and taping boxes in the bunker. Several chaotic and disorganised hours later, all was packed and prepped, and here they were; home. They’d seen it before of course, but this was the first time seeing that house become their home.

“I can’t believe it,” Dean said, after silencing the rumbling engine. “My own white picket-fence.”

Cas, unsurprisingly unsentimental about fencing retorted with confusion. “The fence isn’t white.”

Dean rolled his eyes, lovingly, and made to get out of the truck without a response.

“We could paint it white, if you’d like?” Cas continued, once he too had disembarked, and had met Dean on the pavement side.

“No, man, I like it as is.”

The two walked up their front path - theirs - their steps springy with giddiness as they approached the front door. Pulling a pristine silver key from his jacket pocket, with a turn and click, Dean swung open the door to their new life. The pair stood on the front porch for a moment, not quite believing that this door was for them.

“Should I carry you over the threshold?” Dean joked, leaning over to Cas, face plastered with a grin.

Cas looked to his side and met Dean’s gaze, holding for a moment before-

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Cas took the first step and walked into the entranceway. Dean quickly followed behind. The house was dark, with all the blinds left closed, the only light now streaming in through the open door, silhouetting Dean and Castiel in the narrow doorframe. Cas stood there, studying the blank walls, mentally populating them with where he envisioned they would put up photos of their family, past, present and future. Something about those blank white walls, the canvas for him to paint a picture of the life he had chosen, caught the angel off guard as he became overwhelmed with joy. The moment was only sweetened when Dean, who was having equally soppy thoughts about the prospect of a coat rack - a real place to hang his hat - intertwined his fingers in Castiel’s. Neither said a word for a good minute or two, not wanting the moment of pure indulgent fantasy to end - they were so unused to complete unapologetic wanting that it was so nice to bask in it even for a minute.

“We need to start unpacking at some point.” Dean broke the silence.

“Yes, Sam’s bringing Jack by tomorrow morning,” Cas agreed. “We need to have his room ready by tonight at the very least.”

Despite their agreement, they were still glued to the spot, hands still locked together.

“You gotta let go, Cas.”

“You first.”

The two began to stare at each other in a mix between a loving gaze and a challenge. Cas intensified his gaze.

“Same time.” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes never drifting from Cas’s. They each pulled their hand away at the same time, eyes still locked, and broke into a soft laughter.

“You let go a little earlier than me.” Dean teased.

“Actually, you started to pull your hand away six milliseconds before I did.” Cas retorted playfully.

Dean started back out towards the U-Haul with Cas in tow, turning his head back as he walked to reply;

“You can’t prove that.”

Dean opened up the back and the pair were reminded of the magnitude of the task ahead of them.

“Well,” Dean said, nodding his head slowly in a pre-emptive defeat. “Where do we start?”

Cas stepped up and made for a stack of two boxes. “I can take all the heavy ones.” he said, lifting the boxes with ease.

Angelic strength or not, Dean felt compelled to protest. “I can carry the heavy ones too.”

“There’s no need, Dean. It’ll be faster if I do it.” Cas replied, his voice earnest as he offered his help as always.

Dean scrunched up his face in a faux irritation. Of course, Cas was probably right, and even still, Dean wasn’t one to complain about having a literal angel do the heavy lifting for him. Dean opted for a double-box stack too, but ones marked ‘clothes’; an acceptable compromise for him.

Box after box, Dean and Castiel ferried their life from its transit state into its permanent home. With only one box left, Cas began to unpack and sort their contents on the empty living room floor, while Dean went to fetch the last box. The sun now sat directly overhead. This, paired with the strenuous back-and-forth, had lead Dean to ditching his flannel over-layer a while ago.

“Oh, hello!”

A cheery female voice chirped from behind Dean as he began to close up the U-Haul. Dean turned and was greeted by the broad smile of a mid-thirties woman in yoga pants. Welcome to suburbia, huh.

“You must be my new neighbour!” she continued.

“Uh, yeah, hey,” Dean said, holding his hand over his eyes to shield them from the piercing sunlight. “I’m Dean. You live next-door?”

“Carol,” she replied. “And yes, I’m your right-side neighbour!”

“Awesome.” Dean nodded. Despite typically being effortlessly charismatic, Dean definitely felt out of his depth; he was simply not accustomed to the rules and decorum required in scenarios like these.

“You know if I’d known you were moving in today, I’d have made a casserole,” Carol began to ramble. “Do you like casserole? Oh, everybody likes casserole. In the next few days, you’d better expect a casserole.”

“Sure, I love casserole.” Dean shrugged, humoured somewhat by this strange, incredibly enthusiastic woman.

“Great,” Carol sighed, face still plastered with a big grin. “I hope your wife won’t mind.” Carol gestured to Dean’s wedding ring.

Dean licked his lips and started rolling his wedding band around his finger as he was put in the not unusual bet never pleasant situation of having to correct someone to explain himself.

“Husband actually,” he corrected. “And uh, he won’t mind; I do most of the cooking anyway.”

Carol clapped her hands over her mouth in a melodramatic gasp. “Oh! A husband of course! My bad! How long have you been married?” Carol said, frantically attempting to recover from her faux-pas.

“‘Bout three months.” Dean answered.

“Oh! Newlyweds!” Carol cooed, already seeming to have completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment. “Any kids?”

“Just one, he’s four.” Dean grinned proudly, his earlier reservations melting away as the joy he felt at the opportunity to talk about his family took over. “My brother’s bringing him over tomorrow once we’ve settled in.”

“Aw! So cute! So you’ve been together a while then?”

“Six months.” Dean replied honestly without thinking.

Carol paused, unable to hide her confusion as the cogs in her brain connected dots in ways her traditionally-wired brain couldn’t comprehend.

“Wow,” Carol laughed awkwardly. “You got married after three months; that’s so fast!”

There was another pause. Just then, Cas emerged from the still open front door and strolled over.

“Dean, I was wondering where you’d got to.”

“Hey Cas, come here I’m meeting the neighbours,” Dean beckoned Cas closer and placed an arm around his waist. “This is Carol from next-door.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Castiel.” Cas said, plain and business-like.

“Wait, but your son’s four?” she continued to work through her thoughts aloud. “Oh, is he from a previous relationship, or?”

“Jack?” Cas answered, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation. “No, we adopted him.”

“Before you were a couple?”

Dean figured now was the time for a little lie of convenience, undoubtedly the first of many.

“He’s the kid of a friend of ours,” Dean half-lied. “She died when he was born so we took him in; me, Cas and my brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about your friend,” Carol said, her confusion fading. “But that’s so sweet. Well, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got tonnes of unpacking to do!”

“Yeah, well, great to meet you Carol, see you around.” Dean said with a smile.

“You sure will, with casserole!” Carol assured before she headed off along the street.

Dean’s smile lingered as he stood there, outside the house he shared with the love of his life, who was right there pressed to his side. He let the noon sun shine down on his face and the gentle breeze flush over him.

“Dean,” Cas spoke, tentative to break Dean’s moment of euphoria. “I came out here to tell you that we left all the crockery and kitchenware at the bunker.”

“Shit.”

[brittanacedes]

I was just rewatching JLT and remembered all the people that tried to trash the Brittana proposal, but I loved every second of it!

I love the proposal, too! It was honestly perfect. My one complaint, other than obviously wishing Kurt had minded his own business, was that they didn’t let them kiss. Other than that, I thought it was great. I’m usually more a fan of private proposals and think public ones are very iffy, but I thought it worked so well for Brittana because of where they started. Seeing Santana propose to Brittany in front of their friends in the choir room was such a beautiful full circle moment that really showed how far she’d come from that scared girl who couldn’t sing Songbird to Brittany in front of the glee club because she “wasn’t ready for that kind for public announcement.”

I loved everything Santana said. I love that it wasn’t some big generic speech like the proposals (no shade, the other ones worked for their ships), but it was so personalized to them and their dynamic and story. That one line, the “Some people love someone because they make them a better person, and that’s not why I love you because you’ve always just wanted me to be myself” is so so so good, and such a great twist on that usual trope. I just love when my ships get quotes or moments like that, that perfectly sum up what makes their dynamic so great and why I love them. It’s always nice to see when a show Gets the ship and why it’s awesome. Plus, “You’re my favorite person in the whole world” is such a simple perfect quote, and I think my ultimate favorite for them. Also, Brittany’s reaction! Her teary eyes, the way she just grabs the ring and shoves it on because that’s not what’s important to her in that moment, her super sweet ‘I’d loved to’, Santana’s adorable ‘really?!’, all of it.

As for people that trashed it, lol. Of course they did. The Glee fandom was so toxic, and S6 felt like it was at an all time high. But it was so hilarious seeing people trying to reach for reasons to shit on the proposal. My personal favorite was that Santana only proposed to hurt the other people because of her line about how it was going to “upset all the single guys and gals in the room”, when that comment was obviously supposed to be in the vain of “sorry, ladies [x hot dude celeb] is officially off the market”, and you can tell because if the purpose was to upset anyone, the reaction shot would’ve been Kurt (aka the only one that would be upset) instead of Puck. Wait, the people that acted like the term “one true love” was copyrighted by their ship were pretty hilarious, too. And the ‘she said more in her rant to Kurt than to her proposal to Brittany, that’s how much she cared about it!’ as if she didn’t literally say in her proposal that she usually uses a lot of words when she’s being negative and this was the most positive thing she was ever gonna do, so she’d keep it simple. Not to mention the entire reason she went after Kurt was because he ruined her big moment with Brittany, which just showed how much she cared about it…… God, people are dumb.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Restricted Magic (Erin/Gerald Story) Arc 3 Part 4

Next part is here! 

Link to Masterpost with all other parts is here. 

Enjoy! 

"Next, we'll discuss Merion's different greetings, and their cultural significance."

It was a tranquil scene of study. Sitting around a table outside near the practical field, Christopher stood at one end, lecturing with a serious expression. The light breeze attempted to push his carefully styled hair out of place in vain, having to settle instead for ruffling the papers he had organized on the table in front of him. As he brought the topic to a natural close, he looked around at the group around him with an eyebrow raised. "Any questions?"

"..." There was no answer. He sighed with frustration, not really having expecting anyone to volunteer.

"Erin?" He called out with a smile, trying to get some sort of response.

"..." Erin sat calmly at the other end of the table, ignoring him. She stared down instead at the paper in front of her, taking meticulous notes. Christopher had been surprised by the change in her attitude since the last he saw her. She hadn't even tried to kill him, simply sitting down silently and appearing to listen. She had ignored all of his attempts at conversation, however.

"What about you... Gary?" Christopher then turned his attention to the young man sitting right next to Erin. He was furiously scribbling in a book, which might be construed as him paying attention to the lecture, but given the pace of his writing and his enthusiasm, Christopher somehow doubted that his notes had anything to do with Merion culture.

"It's Gerald. And I don't speak to puppy murderers." Gerald grumbled, continuing to write in his book.

Christopher was confused. "puppy murderer?"

"Did you find any evidence?" Olivia looked up from her own notes, excited.

"Just because there's no evidence that he’s a puppy murderer doesn't mean that he ISN’T."

"Why...?" Christopher shook his head.

"Hey, if you can give yourself a fake title like... 'fiance'" Gerald seemed to choke on the word. "Then I can give you one too. And I choose: Puppy Murderer."

"Makes sense." Frederick agreed with a nasty grin.

"How does that make sense?!"

"Shut up, Puppy Murderer."

Throughout this exchange, Erin remained silent, continuing to take notes.

"What are you writing, if it isn't notes on the lecture?" Christopher couldn't contain his curiosity.

"Seating arrangements." Gerald answered shortly, studying the book before him.

"For what?"

"For my wedding to Erin." He looked up, glaring. "You're not invited."

Throwing up his hands with frustration, Christopher turned to Frederick and Olivia, desperate to get the conversation back on track. "At least you two were taking notes on the lecture. Do you have any questions?"

Frederick smiled. "I'm not taking notes."

"You're not?" Christopher had a bad feeling. "Then what ARE you doing?"

"Drawing a picture." Frederick held up the paper he had been scribbling on. "See, here's you, here's Erin, and here's Erin setting you on fire while you cry." He studied it with satisfaction.

"Who's that?" Olivia pointed at a poorly drawn figure in the background.

"That's me laughing at his misery."

"Nice. Here's mine!" Olivia lifted up her paper. "I drew Erin cutting off Christopher's head!"

Frederick studied it seriously. "Nice detail work on the blood spatter."

"Thanks! I worked really hard on it!" The two high-fived.

Christopher was starting to get a massive headache. "IS anyone paying attention to the lecture?! Matthias..." He started to ask the pale boy sitting to the other side of Erin, only to trail off as he realized that he was asleep, his head leaning, back, snoring loudly.

"Matthias, wake up! You're missing Puppy Murderer's lecture!" Frederick threw a piece of paper at Matthias's head, where it struck him softly between the eyes, bouncing to the table in front of him.

"Hmm." Matthias's eyes fluttered open, focusing on the crumpled up paper in front of him. Reaching out, the  paper ball froze into a solid chunk of ice in his hand, which he subsequently tossed back at Frederick. The other boy threw himself to the ground, barely escaping having his head knocked in by the piece of ice.

"Fine, go back to sleep!" Frederick yelled, protecting his head from further assault.

"Hmm." His eyes closing slowly, soon Matthias was snoring again.

Christopher sat down, his head in his hands. "What did I ever do to deserve this?" Looking up with a desperate expression, he moved around the table to stand near Erin, who throughout this exchange had not spoken a word, or even looked up. "Erin. At least you know the meaning of being polite and reasonable."

"..."

"I know you don't want to marry me, but you'll see, this is actually quite advantageous to both of us."

"It's totally going to be burning." Frederick muttered.

"Decapitation. No doubt." Olivia countered.

As money exchanged hands for a bet, Christopher ignored them, reaching out to try to grab Erin's hand that was writing. "I promise, if you just give me a chance... I'll..." His voice faded, his eyes widening in surprise as the quiet and serious-appearing Erin disappeared before him.

"What...?"

"Oh she's not here." Gerald didn't look up from his paper. "She left an illusionary spell behind about 30 minutes ago."

Frederick chuckled. "Probably practicing her fire magic."

"Sharpening her sword." Olivia shook her head.

"Raise the stakes?" They both placed more money on the table.

"Never mind! You know, these lectures were all supposed to be for your own good! If you want to show up in a foreign country, with no idea of what to expect, that’s fine by me!" With a frustrated growl, Christopher stomped off in the direction of the administration building.

As soon as he was gone the atmosphere of the group relaxed.

"Wow, that was fun!" Frederick grinned, leaning back in his chair. "We should torment people more often."

Gerald rolled his eyes. "Not all of us like to watch other people suffer."

"Not even the guy trying to steal your fiance?"

"He doesn't count. His suffering is for the greater good."

"How so?"

"If he doesn't agree to end the engagement, Erin might destroy the something... like the country."

He nodded. "Good point."

"Where is Erin?" Matthias had finally woken up.

"Trying to contact Aunt Elsinore. She's worried that this trip to Merion might be some sort of set up." Gerald's forehead wrinkled, as he looked around, concerned. "She should be back soon, I hope."

Olivia leaned forward. "More importantly, how do we destroy what's left of Christopher's soul during the next lecture?"

With slightly evil grins on their faces, the group began a serious discussion.

“What is it?” Aunt Elsinore’s voice in her head was sharp, distracted.

“Something’s happened.” Erin leaned back in her chair, still gripping the communication artifact in her hands tightly, looking around her room as if searching for answers. “A representative came about us winning the tournament, they want us to make a diplomatic trip, tour the country, work with other students.”

“Sounds foolish.” Elsinore snapped. “Trips and such, we’ve already wasted too much time. We have to start planning how to kill that bastard before he figures out your true power!”

“...” Erin was shocked at her aunt’s tone. Before, her aunt had always been focused on revenge, but had a patient, calm attitude. It was always more important that they slowly gather their power rather than strike quickly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Nothing. Just not sleeping well.” Elsinore then started muttering, most of it below her breath, Erin couldn’t understand it. It almost sounded as if she was talking to someone else in the room with her.

“Is someone there with you?” 

It couldn’t be, Aunt Elsinore had been imprisoned by the government shortly after she had started attending the academy. They strove to keep her isolated, and was never allowed to have visitors. 

So who was she talking to?

“What?! No one!” Her voice seemed almost panicked. “So why did you call me? Is it just to report this field trip?”

“Well… not just that. It turns out that the representative they sent… he’s the fiance my father picked out.”

“...” There was no answer. Disappointed in her aunt’s lack of response, Erin pushed forward. 

“I’m worried that the whole trip to Merion might be some sort of trick involving him and my father…”

“MERION?! You didn’t say it was to Merion!” Her aunt interrupted. “Turn it down NOW! You can’t go.”

Erin shook her head. Nothing her aunt said was making sense. “Wait, why? We’re not at war with them. I don’t even know anyone from there, excluding this fake fiance of mine. ”

“Don’t ask why. Just stay away from that country, and their representative. Focus on your father.” Her voice started to trail off as if she was distracted, and then came back in full force. “We’ve been planning this for years, Erin. We can’t lose sight of our goal when we are so close. We have to kill him. Make him suffer.”

“Aunt…”

“That's the only way to be free of this.”

“But…”

“The only way your mother’s soul will rest.”

“What are you…?” Erin kept trying to speak, but her aunt wasn’t listening.

“I’ll contact you later with more details. We will strike and we will strike soon.”

With that, the magic disconnected, and Erin was alone again. Letting out a shuddering breath, she rubbed her head, trying to think things through.

What had happened?

Her aunt had seemed fine when they had parted after the competition. What was going on that was making the older woman so desperate?

“Merion?” Erin whispered to herself. “What’s so important about Merion?”

None of it made any sense.

Should she listen, and try to find a way out of the trip? Somehow, Erin didn’t think not going would be a simple matter. The headmaster had said it was a big issue diplomatically.  What should she do?

Realizing that her thoughts were simply uselessly circling in her head, she stood up, preparing to go find Gerald. As she opened the door to her room to leave, however, she did not move forward. Instead she took a step back, her face pale with shock.

“Hello Erin.” The man in the doorway greeted her without a smile.

Calming her expression, Erin nodded back, standing her ground. 

“Father.”

[gwydionae]

I am posting this to show 1.) how big of a nerd I am, 2.) what KIND of a nerd I am, and 3.) just how much I went through to end up in complete agony, lol.

I really like facts, concrete evidence that something is true. I also like a good puzzle, being given some information and travelling down the rabbit hole to try and piece said info together. You know what else I like? Fictional universes and their concept of time. The Dice, Camera, Action! fandom might know me as the insane lady who carefully tries to construct a proper timeline for a DnD show with no official timeline whatsoever, going simply off of in-game clues.

You know what show gave me a character’s birthday, another character telling said birthday character “happy birthday” seemingly quite a bit after his birthday, and then proceeded to dump an actual, real calendar on me? Mob Psycho 100, of course! So what did I decide I wanted to figure out? Just how long HAD Mob and Reigen been apart during the “separation arc”?

Now, I actually DO have a pretty good guess! See, based on Reigen’s character profile from the manga, along with the email his mom sent him on his birthday, we know that he turned 28 on October 10, 2012 (if he was born Year of the Rat and is using a cellphone in present day, he had to have been born in 1984, thus it being 2012 on his 28th birthday). According to the above included calendar, this would be a Wednesday. He had already been separated from Mob for a little while previous to that, though. The first day could have been a school day as Ritsu came home in uniform and said that Mob was “home early”, but it couldn’t have been a Monday as the day before that was definitely a school day. So that would likely make it either Tuesday the 9th or Friday the 5th. We then see Mob in class/club, out shopping with Ritsu, and out again in a different outfit (this being Reigen’s birthday). If his birthday is on a Wednesday, their first day apart couldn’t have been Tuesday as there are at least 2 days in between their fight and Wednesday, so likely they fought on Thursday the 4th, meaning that October 5, 2012 would be the first day of their separation.

So! Reigen went 6 days before getting his serious Mob withdrawal symptoms. Ok, how much time passed after that? Well, I figured it couldn’t be TOO much, as while Mob’s belated “happy birthday” is said in the past tense, it’d be weird if it came, like, months later, but there’s only so much actual evidence to go on. We do know that Reigen started going all out with work, and one job in particular - the video game player killer - had him staying up “many nights”. But that one job made him go viral, essentially, and he got interviewed for a magazine. “And a few days after that” he got asked to be on the TV special, which took place “one week” from when he was asked. We then see people reporting on him being a fake the next day, and the day after that Mob is at school and being told about it for the first time. This gave me my first clue, making me think the special must have been on a Saturday night, with Mob finding out on Monday. After this, we get the line “in three days, being the ultimate evil had become Reigen’s public image”, which would put us on a Tuesday as the day he gets cornered into holding a press conference the following day (Wednesday). And, of course, that’s the day he finally sees Mob again.

So for sure we have 4 days since the night of his social collapse, and before that 8 days between which he got asked to be on TV and then he appeared on TV the following week. So we’ve got a confirmed 12 days total so far, but obviously that’s not counting the “many nights” playing the video game plus any work time he put in before or after. The earliest possible date that he could have been contacted for the TV would be Saturday the 20th. This would give him about a week and a half to get big, and it would put the spooky exorcism special the Saturday before Halloween. But that’s not a lot of time to build up his name, and it would put his press conference on Halloween itself which seems a bit odd to me (though maybe Japan isn’t too big on Halloween specials). So I figured the best bet would be to say he got asked to be on TV Saturday the 27th, appeared Nov 3rd, and held his press conference on Wed the 7th, exactly 4 weeks since his birthday, and a total of 34 days since he’d last seen Mob.

BUT WAIT! Why did I say I was in agony over this if I’ve got a pretty decent idea of how much time passed? Oh, Studio Bones. I love you. I love you a lot. I do. I really, really do.

But.

BUT.

*sigh*

You just HAD to put a REAL calendar in the very next episode, didn’t you?

Ok, so admittedly at first I was pretty excited about this! After all, at first glance, it actually seemed to line up pretty well! It looked like it could be a calendar for Oct 2012! But then I noticed that according to that screenshot, the date is supposed to be the 1st. Well, ok, fine, maybe my first guess was correct and Reigen actually DID get popular in a week and a half and held in press conference on the 31st. But... no, that couldn’t be it either because this month has 31 days in it - that doesn’t even work for November at all! Could it possibly be December already? Did that much time actually pass?? In what year did December 1st fall on a Mon- WAIT! NO! THAT’S NOT A MONDAY! THAT’S A TUESDAY!! THIS CALENDAR STARTS WITH MONDAY!!! That means that even my theory of “they had the right calendar for Oct 2012, but just marked the wrong date on it” is debunked, too!! Wait wait wait!! Hold up! Just what month/year IS this supposed to be a calendar of, then??

It’s January 2019.

They just used the dates from January 2019.

......................

How dare you, Bones.

I trusted you. I trusted that you would actually pull through for me, that you had given me concrete evidence to support my hypothesis. That you put so much care into your animation that SURELY putting in the proper dates wouldn’t be hard.

I was a fool to be excited. I will never trust your dates or calendars again. You have lied to me with false facts, and now every time I see that calendar, it makes me upset because it is simply factually wrong, and I don’t like it.

...THIS is what kind of nerd I am. XD

Now if you’ll excuse me, my sister is about to watch the latest episode, and I am going to make myself happy again by enjoying her pain, because she, like me, is an anime only, lol.

[laurengattos-blog]

Chapter 1, Part 1

At Rise

Hunched over on a backstage bench, Alyse struggled to breathe in the moist, salted air around her. The gentle melody from beyond the curtains grew agitated, and a new, faster rhythm erupted from the horns. Alyse glanced up and caught a glimpse of Sorelli in her yet-to-be-finished Swanhilda costume, marching upstage past the third line’s entrance in the wing. That was their cue.

Standing at the wing curtain, Meg turned around, her down-turned doll eyes searching for Alyse. “Alyse, come on,” Meg whispered as the other dancers formed the line without them. Alyse shook her head. She couldn’t. Not now. Meg glanced out to the stage, and then scurried to Alyse to pull her to her feet. “Come on, Alyse, please.” With sagging shoulders, Alyse took her spot at the end of the line while Meg pushed her way into the middle. Clarisse, the gossipy little brat next to Alyse, pretended to ignore her. Alyse knew Clarisse was watching her out of the corner of her eye. They all had been, after Alyse lost her mind.

The line fluttered out onto the stage and mingled with the boys’ line. There was a rumble downstage as the coryphées landed from a hop, unsynchronized. Mme. Giry immediately called out the worst offenders from the front. Under the building roar of the timpani, Alyse heard a creak above her. Her eyes flashed up. One of the catwalks swayed in the darkness. The boy whose arm she should have taken cleared his throat. Mme. Giry shouted, “Alyse! You’re two beats behind!” Alyse pattered ungracefully forward with her partner to rejoin the line.

She raised her arm too late as they bounced to the mazurka. Her partner encircled her waist and they turned. The boards creaked above her. She looked up. The chains that bore the catwalk shifted and clanked together. Alyse shrunk out of her partner’s grasp. He was there. He was there. He had come back to punish her. “Count, Alyse,” Mme. Giry moaned. Alyse gave an audible cry as her partner grabbed her waist to lift her. He cursed under his breath when she didn’t jump into it, and then left her as the boys and girls separated, lining opposite sides of the stage.

The catwalk groaned louder. Alyse drew her hands in too quick as she spun. Her posture buckled as she glanced up, but she kept on. Uneasily, she straightened her back and swept her arm out to the side, bobbing from one foot to the other. She watched the other dancers to catch up with them. Didn’t anyone else hear it? Didn’t anyone else feel him? Boards creaked, chains clanked, feet pounded the stage. In the rustling of gauzy skirts, she heard shoes sliding across the catwalk and the scrape of something heavy. Then she found Mme. Giry staring right at her. Mme. Giry wasn’t looking at Alyse with annoyance now, but with concern. That belittling, judgmental concern they all addressed her with these days. Alyse lifted her chin defiantly, the muscles in her face set with anger. She lifted an arced arm and hopped into a brisé volé.

There was a crack, and sharp, loud cries, and suddenly Alyse was on the ground. Everything hurt, head, arms, stomach. She couldn’t move. Hard to breathe. Eyes wouldn’t focus. But the gasps, the screams around her were clear. Briefly she saw Meg crying into Mme. Giry’s sleeve. She heard her brother’s voice, and saw his boots stomping towards her. Weight shifted off of her stomach. She inhaled deeply, and roared. Her stomach, her flesh burned. Her brother took her hand and said something to her. He repeated it, louder. He wanted an answer. Alyse grimaced, and then cracked a smile. “I found him,” she whispered. “I found him.”

The sun setting over his shoulder, Apollo lifted his golden lyre into the darkening sky, as did Poetry her torch, and Harmony a commanding, gilded hand. The marble angels and muses and artists below waited steadfast for the night to come. At the intersection of Rue Scribe and Rue Gluck behind the Palais Garnier, a coach lurched to a halt. Stifling a cry, Lilith gripped the seat cushion and felt tenderly around her wound. She nervously examined the waist of her dress. No blood seeped through, thankfully.

Rebecca touched Lilith’s shoulder. Her eyes, blue as the dusk that swallowed the edge of the sky, glimmered with worry. “Are you sure you can do this?” Rebecca asked.

A bitter smile twisted Lilith’s lips. “Certainty hasn’t made a difference so far.” The coachman opened Rebecca’s door to assist her out, but Lilith stopped him, “—Oh, one moment please—” reaching across her protégée to pull the door shut. “Rebecca, dear,” she said, opening her attaché case on her lap with one hand and handing Rebecca a small paper box. “Just a little more powder.”

“Me?” Rebecca taunted as she took out the powder puff. “What about you, Queen of Sheba?”

Lilith chuckled. “I have other distractions.”

“So when I grow breasts, I can wear less powder?”

The coach shook as their trunks were lowered to the walk. When she finished, Rebecca closed the puff inside the powder box and brushed sprinkled powder off of her lacy blue bodice. Rebecca asked if Lilith was satisfied. Lilith caught the girl’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. “What a pretty girl. Do I look human?”

“You look gorgeous.” Rebecca knocked on the coach window as Lilith stuffed the powder box into her disheveled case. The coachman opened the door with an impatient smile and guided Rebecca out by the hand. When her boot hit the stone walk, Rebecca sighed at the beauty of the Palais Garnier. She turned back as the coachman gripped Lilith’s arm in an inadequate attempt to help her out. Finally on the sidewalk, Lilith smoothed out her emerald dress and her velvet wrap, and drew herself up into her practiced, leonine posture. The coachman handed her the attaché. She paid him an extra franc to carry their trunks inside. He tipped his hat and obliged. With a cool but pleased smile, Lilith took a step forward. Her ankle wavered, and a hand instinctively flew to her waist. Copying Lilith’s smile, Rebecca casually wrapped her arm around Lilith’s and guided her up to the entrance.

As they waited in a rotunda circled with red marble columns, a page saw their trunks and approached them with alarm. Rebecca stepped behind Lilith as Lilith explained they had a meeting with the managers. The page called another man, who introduced himself as Rémy, the managers’ secretary. Lilith explained who she was with tactful grace, but all the while felt his eyes scan her pierced ears, lack of a wedding band, and the sixteen-year-old behind her, too old to be her daughter, too dissimilar to be a sister. But he recognized Lilith’s name. Rémy told her they weren’t expecting her until tomorrow. Then he asked where her partner was, the gentleman—

“Monsieur, would you be so kind as to ask the managers if they would see us now,” Lilith demanded. “We simply caught an earlier train, and we would like to settle with them as soon as we can.” Rémy bowed and went, and when he returned, ordered the page to carry the ladies’ trunks. Lilith kept her attaché with her, walking arm in arm with Rebecca as Rémy led them to the managers’ office. They climbed the marble staircase and turned right, into an ornate, wood paneled hallway. One of Rebecca’s tight, frizzy brown curls slipped loose and brushed against the nape of her neck. Lilith freed her arm and gently twisted the curl between her fingers. She loved Rebecca’s curls and wished they were let loose more often, but Rebecca flashed a startled glare and stuffed the curl back into her bonnet. Rebecca wasn’t copying Lilith’s smile anymore. She’d been fidgeting since the page accosted them.

The page set the trunks beside Rémy’s desk, in the center of the anteroom. As Rémy went to open the office door, Lilith stroked her heavy silver locket in one last moment of uncertainty. “Mademoiselle Samar,” Rémy announced. Lilith glided in, Rebecca at her heels.

The excessiveness of the office was smothering. White and gold carvings trimmed the brocade-papered walls, and red velvet flanked two large baroque windows, dripping with fringe. Mahogany bookcases lined the back wall, filled with busts and figures and rows and rows of never-opened books. In the center stood a large, elaborately carved mahogany desk, with two leather desk chairs behind it and two plush buttoned armchairs in front. Beside the armchairs stood two middle-aged men in fine suits.

The shorter one, with a rosy complexion and perfectly coiffed hair, nimbly approached Lilith with an outstretched hand. “Mademoiselle Samar!” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Delighted to finally meet you. I am Armand Moncharmin, and this is my co-manager, Firmin Richard.” A half-hearted smile fleetingly crossed Richard’s face as Lilith’s hand was passed to him.  

Lilith tilted her head and said in delicate tones, “Thank you so much for seeing us. This is my apprentice, Rebecca Haines.” Rebecca nodded and said hello, keeping her eyes low. Moncharmin motioned for the ladies to sit. Carefully, Lilith lowered herself into the arm chair, with Rebecca watching nervously out of the corner of her eye.

Richard sat across from Lilith and leaned back in his chair, his cold grey eyes never leaving her face. “Where is your partner, Mlle. Samar?”

“Yes, M. Blake?” Moncharmin added, folding his hands on the desk.

Lilith let her wrap drop from her shoulders as she answered, “He begs your pardon. His sister wrote to him a week before we left that their mother had taken ill. He had to return home.”

“I see,” Richard said doubtfully.

“What a shame that we won’t be able to hear you sing together,” Moncharmin said, his voice rising above his co-manager’s. “But we’re glad the two of you made it safely. You know a friend of ours, Duc Melville, was in New York last year, and he saw your Les Souffrances du Amira—the English version, of course.”

“I’m afraid it’s better in French,” Lilith laughed softly.

“Quite,” Moncharmin smiled. “When we told him we received your letter, he raved about the music, and your performance. However, he remembered your name as Sinclair.”

“Oh yes, I used a more common name. I was worried my real name might hold back my career. Not everyone is as tolerant as the French, you know,” Lilith said. Richard scoffed. Lilith glanced at him, and then to Rebecca, who dropped her eyes to her lap. Lilith went on with a humble, sanguine air, “I must thank you again for inviting us. It’s such a wonderful honor.”

“Our pleasure, Mademoiselle,” crooned Moncharmin. “You came highly recommended, and we’re always looking for new artists.” Richard scoffed again. Moncharmin bitterly flattened his lips, glaring at Richard. “Do forgive my partner. He objects to my importing a French opera from America.”

“Don’t make me out to be so petty.” Richard sat forward, his gaunt cheeks flushing in irritation as he said, “Mademoiselle, we weren’t expecting you for two days. Would you honor us with an explanation for your early arrival?”

Lilith closed her eyes and nodded apologetically. “Yes, that’s my fault entirely. After the ferry from Southampton,” she touched Rebecca’s arm, which made the girl jolt, “we thought we would spend a few days in Le Harve, but we were too excited to see Paris. However, it has left us in a bit of an awkward situation. No decent hotel has any rooms available.”

“It is the start of the social season,” Moncharmin offered.

“Yes, which I forgot. I was hoping that the rooms we discussed might be ready tonight.”

“A perfectly reasonable request, wouldn’t you say, Firmin?” Moncharmin reached a hand across the desk to Lilith. “The rooms aren’t ready just this minute, but they can be by tonight.”

“Oh, thank you, Messieurs,” Lilith sang, a hand gracing the sweetheart neckline of her dress, “you don’t know what this means to us.”

Moncharmin stood and called in Rémy. As he was ordering that the rooms be made up, he stopped and asked Lilith, “Since your partner hasn’t come, do you still prefer two rooms?”

Lilith looked at Rebecca, who kept her widening eyes focused in her lap. “That all depends,” Lilith said.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Moncharmin.

Rebecca lifted her head and stared at Lilith, eyes stiller than death. Lilith said to the managers, “Rebecca would like to audition for your ballet.”

Moncharmin and Richard exchanged glances in silence. Rémy uncomfortably crept out the door. Finally Moncharmin answered, “We were under the impression you were teaching her to sing.”

Lilith furrowed her brow. “I do apologize if I ever gave you that impression. She has had extensive training as a dancer, and she was a soloist in New York.”

“Why didn’t you ever mention this in your letters?” Richard charged.

“Because I wanted her to have a fighting chance. It’s so easy to dismiss someone in a letter.”

With an expression of strained pleasantness, Moncharmin asked, “Firmin, may I speak to you?” Huffing, Richard stood and followed Moncharmin into the anteroom. Rémy had already fled. Richard tapped the heavily beaten, stacked trunks beside the secretary’s desk with his foot. “Firmin, what are you doing?” Moncharmin demanded.

Richard shook his head. “That woman is playing us, Armand. I don’t like her.”

“You know very well that we need this opera, Firmin.”

Lowering his voice, Richard leaned close and said, “We shouldn’t be humoring him. Inspector Mifroid agrees with me.”

“Inspector Mifroid has yet to protect this company!” Moncharmin growled. He drew a deep breath and straightened his cravat. “You go speak to Mme. Giry. I’ll get Samar to sign the contract.” Without another word, he returned to the office.

Moncharmin handed Lilith a neatly-penned contract, engaging her for the remainder of the season, although it wasn’t clear in what capacity after the run of her show. Otherwise, the contract was generous, including the rooms in the dormitory that she requested, and an advance on her first paycheck to let her settle in comfortably. Lilith’s genial expression faded from embers to coal as she assessed each passage. While she read, he thought of a question he’d asked briefly in a letter, which she had failed to answer in her response. He inquired again why she preferred a room in the ballet dormitories to one in a hotel.

“To live with artists, instead of patricians,” she said simply, with a charming little laugh. Then, touching his hand, she gently objected to the vagueness of her employment outside of her own opera, and suggested shortening the length of her engagement to the run of Les Souffrances du Amira. With a sigh, he told her they would have the revised contract for her tomorrow.

Moncharmin led his guests around the opera, acquainting them with the first production of the season, Il Trovatore, which would be performed for the last time the following night. He invited them both to watch the show from the managers’ box, but added that if Rebecca was to be enrolled in the ballet, Mme. Giry would control her schedule. Casually, he asked if Lilith would sing after the performance in the singer’s foyer, as a preview for their most valued patrons. Really it was Richard’s idea, but he had been in too much of a huff to ask. Lilith gave Moncharmin a sincere, knowing grin, and said she’d be happy to. Before they reached the house, Moncharmin led them down the ballet’s hallway. He told them that the ballet was working on Coppélia, which would open next week. Outside the main studio, Richard stood arguing with the narrow, grey-clad Mme. Giry. When he spotted them, Moncharmin tried to lead his party away, but Lilith stayed firmly where she was and started asking about the studios.

Gruffly, Richard declared, “We all know there’s an opening, Madame.”

“And you want me to fill it with some pretty American from a leg show?” Mme. Giry answered, wringing the head of her cane with her thumb and forefinger.

Richard met eyes with Moncharmin and waved for him to keep them back. “You can’t just say no, especially since Samar will be your neighbor soon. Just let the girl audition. What harm could it do?”

“That’s not the point, M. Richard. I am not accepting any new students at this time. I turned three girls away last week, all connected to bankers and politicians, and you want me to treat this girl differently because your blackmailer wants her guardian’s opera?”

“For God’s sake, Alianore, keep your voice down,” he hissed.

Giry followed his gaze down the hall, to Moncharmin and his two followers. “Oh, do you think it would turn them off? Then what would you do? How would we go on?”

Richard stepped closer, his voice low and cold. “There’s absolutely no drawback to letting her audition. If you like her, your corps de ballet will be an even number again. He would be happy, and your girls would be safe.”

At that, Giry softened, guilt creasing her forehead before she lifted her chin to try to hide the emotion. “Fine,” she answered.  She turned to look at the group at the end of the hall, whom Richard waved forward. Barely masking his relief, Moncharmin beamed as he led Lilith and Rebecca to meet the ballet mistress. Giry stepped towards them, tapping her cane on the floor. “Are you the girl?” she asked Rebecca.

“Oh, yes. Rebecca Haines,” Rebecca said with a desperate curtsey.

Lilith put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “She’s studied ballet for five years, and she was a principle dancer in a production of Verdi’s Aida.”

“All right. Come on,” Giry nodded impartially and gestured to the studio door.

“Now?” Rebecca whispered.

Giry turned back. “I’m sorry, do you have plans? I did before you came along. Do you have pointe shoes?”

Lilith answered, “I’ll get them from her trunk—”

“Don’t bother,” Giry waved the words away. Richard opened the door, and they all followed Giry inside. In the center of the room, a male dancer slowly guided a female soloist’s turn, with six girls posing around them in a semicircle. The corps de ballet lined the back of the room, stretching and whispering amongst themselves. “Sorelli,” Giry called. The dancers stopped and the soloist looked up. Giry ordered them to practice in the back. She needed the pianist. Rubbing her forehead, Sorelli led the coryphées to the opposite end of the room.

The corps de ballet watched on intently, silent at first, but the hum of curious whispers grew. The pianist, a pale, boyish young man, looked up over the top of his piano. “Raquel,” Giry called.

Rebecca blushed and quietly corrected, “Rebecca.”

“Yes. What do you know?”

“Um,” She let go of the wrist she was wringing and forced her hands to her sides. “Bournonville’s La Sylphide.”

“Fine. M. Marquis! Go over ‘Dance of the Sylphs,’” Giry barked. The pianist jumped, spilling some pages onto the floor, but nodded obediently. Giry pointed Rebecca to the nearest barre and told her she had five minutes to warm up. Rebecca sat on a bench along the wall and untied her boots.

“You’ll have to take off the bonnet too,” Lilith said softly, setting her attaché beside Rebecca and folding her hands over her stomach.

Rebecca groaned, kicking off her second boot. “I know, I….Please don’t say things at me right now,” she requested, tugging at the knot under her chin.

“You’ll do fine,” Lilith laughed easily. “You’ve danced La Sylphide a hundred times.”

Rolling her eyes, Rebecca set the bonnet beside her and answered, “Not without pointes or a proper warm up.”

“Rebecca, you were born for this—”

“Good God, stop talking,” Rebecca hissed as she stood to rush through some barre exercises. Lilith shook her head and lowered herself onto the bench. Her wound was throbbing from the walk around the theatre. She drew a slow breath and smoothed out her bodice. She worried constantly about the stitches breaking, although if the coach ride hadn’t done it, surely none of the activities at the opera house could. Lilith lifted her gaze and was startled to find Giry staring back at her.

Giry narrowed her eyes at Lilith. But then, drumming her fingers against the piano top, Giry asked Rebecca if she was ready, in a tone that indicated she was out of time. Rebecca fluttered to the clearing in front of the piano and curtseyed again. The pianist started.

With a steady breath, Rebecca let serenity wash over her features, and the broad, airy gestures of a sylph possess her limbs. Curving her arms into first position, she chasséd to her left and gracefully extended her hands out to the side. A pas de bourrée, and the light, precise kick of a coupé jeté led into a gentle turn, and she lifted her working leg smoothly behind her (perhaps too high, she thought, but then blocked all words from her mind).

Her movements were delicate and effortless, like the flicker of a candle, in absolute harmony with the music. She lowered her right arm as she flowed from third to second position, with a few small steps on the balls of her feet (as well as she could manage without pointes), and then her left leg bent and sank behind her, and she floated to the ground (and here she felt the strain of her fine cotton skirt). She swept her rounded arms above her and opened them out, a coy smile on her full coral lips despite the aching in her knee and the arch of her foot. Her arms crossing over her chest, she looked up and tried not to make eye contact with Giry.

Lilith smiled. Never for a moment was there a waver in her step, nor in the placement of a hand nor turn of the head. Rebecca lifted herself to her feet almost weightlessly, and went into a series of controlled turns, arabesques, and a grand jeté before Giry finally struck the pianist on the shoulder with her cane and stopped them both.

Rebecca clasped her hands together, her shoulders falling forward as she waited for Giry’s response. With a tense, serious, but otherwise unreadable expression, Giry crossed her arms and stepped close to Rebecca. “Where did you learn to dance?”

“I…” Rebecca cleared her throat. “I was in a company in New York for two years, but before that my guardian taught me.”

“You dance, Mademoiselle?” Giry asked Lilith.

Lilith straightened her posture. “Yes, I used to.”

“Madame?” Moncharmin prompted from the doorway, while Richard checked his pocket watch.

“Yes,” Giry sighed, and then turned back to Rebecca. “You are suitable for training. You will participate in the leçon every morning, but until we start rehearsing a new production, you will watch rehearsal silently in the wings. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rebecca laid a hand over her heart, stifling tears. “Thank you, Madame.”

Giry turned to the fleet of dancers along the back wall and shouted, “Meg!” A mousy blonde stepped out of the corps de ballet. “Come here. The rest of you, get into costume. We rehearse on stage in forty minutes.”

As the dancers filtered out of the studio in frothy white packs, Rebecca felt a hand on her shoulder. “I’m very proud of you,” Lilith whispered, removing her hand to sweep a curl out of Rebecca’s eye. Without thinking, Rebecca hugged her, but when Lilith whimpered she pulled away.

Moncharmin congratulated Rebecca over Lilith’s shoulder. To Lilith and Rebecca’s surprise, even Richard said with grave sincerity, “You’re really quite talented.”

“Messieurs!” cried a voice from the doorway. The managers turned to see Rémy impatiently pushing his way through the gauzy sea of dancers. “They’ve interrupted rehearsal on stage,” Rémy said, bumping into the pianist and causing him to drop an entire folder of sheet music. Rebecca bent down and helped M. Marquis collect the pages. He blushed and thanked her. Rémy went on, “An argument has broken out. Señora Cruz demands that you come.” Richard grumbled about the Señora’s demands and Moncharmin begged Lilith’s pardon as they hastily left for the house.

“Rebecca,” Giry said. Rebecca stood and straightened her skirt. Giry loosely held the petite blonde dancer by the shoulder. “Meg is going to show you to the dormitory. When you’re ready, come down and go backstage with the other dancers.” Meg and Rebecca curtseyed slightly to one another, and then Rebecca went to put her boots back on. Lilith stood facing Rebecca to avoid communication with the ballet mistress, although she felt Giry’s eyes on her anyway. But then Rebecca followed Meg out the door, and Lilith had no more protection. As Lilith attempted to leave with them, Giry called her back. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind, Mademoiselle.”

“All right,” Lilith sighed, closing the studio door. She set her attaché back on the bench. “What is it you want to talk about?”

Giry leaned her cane away from her body, lifting her head as high as Lilith’s. “Mlle. Haines is a very capable girl. I can see why you forced her upon us.”

“Talent is worth fighting for, I think.”

“I agree. However,” Giry’s voice lowered authoritatively, “you are not welcome to stay in the dormitory. I cannot allow an unmarried, pregnant woman to live amongst my students.”

“Pregnant?” Lilith cried indignantly.

“Don’t deny it. You’re not wearing a corset. And I saw you, weary and nauseous from a mere walk. You’re pierced ears, your thick perfume, and your lifestyle—which can most kindly be described as Bohemian—are not attributes that I want my dancers to become familiar with.”

Lilith stared for a moment, and then cackled in exhaustion. “My dear, I am not pregnant.”

“Oh really? So it wouldn’t matter if I told the managers what I observed? That wouldn’t affect your standing?”

Lilith sighed. “All right. Look, I’m not pregnant, but I’m injured, and I didn’t want to tell the managers because it would only cause unnecessary worry.”

“Oh, please,” Giry sneered. With a twist in the corner of her mouth, Lilith began to unbutton her bodice. Giry watched cautiously. Then, when the bodice was open and Lilith lifted the camisole underneath, Giry paled. Lilith’s chemise was stained dark with blood, stretching from the middle of her ribcage on her left side to just above her hip bone. “What happened?” Giry asked, her voice quivering.

“It’s not really important. It was just an accident,” Lilith said, circling her wound. “The perfume, by the way, is to cover the smell of blood.”

“Why are you keeping this from the managers?”

“I don’t want them to think I can’t do my job. It wouldn’t take much for them to replace me in my own opera with a more popular singer, regardless of her ability to sing the role. Listen, Madame,” Lilith began, softening her voice as she started to button her bodice. “You were so kind to let Rebecca audition, and I hate to ask another favor, but I must insist that we keep this between us.”

Giry squirmed as she gazed at the ceiling in thought. “If it undermines the managers’ authority, I don’t see why not. But,” she raised her hand, lips pursing, “You are not allowed to bring any men back to the dormitory.”

Lilith scowled. “Don’t worry, Madame, they’ve promised me a dressing room.” She adjusted her dress and picked up her attaché.

{Next Part}

[hari-writes]

Three Sides to the Story - Chapter 13

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairings: Adrien/Marinette Marinette/Chat Noir Summary: It’s been almost three years since Adrien Agreste walked out of Marinette’s life. An accidental meeting at a party starts a course of events that will either drive them together or further apart. Meanwhile, Plagg and Tikki have had enough of their holders’ indecision and obliviousness.

Read on A03

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

5th April - before sunrise

Cat Noir ran.

He didn’t know what else to do. He needed to think.

He had returned home from Marinette’s and paced for what felt like hours before deciding that the best way to clear his head would be to get out of his house.

He transformed and vaulted out the window and ascended the first building he reached. Running on the rooftops up Rue de Rivoli, he barely took in his surroundings as he passed Le Louvre. He didn’t have a route in mind, he simply ran, bounding over the gaps in the hotels, shops and apartment buildings. The lights of the Champs Elysees were like a beacon and before he knew it, he was leaping the Place Charles de Gaulle to land lightly on the top of the Arc de Triomphe.

Leaning over, hands on knees, Cat Noir caught his breath. The cold night air stung his lungs, but he didn’t care. Looking south from his vantage point, he took in the beauty of the Eiffel Tower and remembered he and Ladybug’s first battle there, against Stoneheart. He recalled the pep talk he gave Ladybug after she saved Chloe’s life.

“... without you, she'd no longer be here. And because without us, they won't make it, and we'll prove that too .”

He asked her to trust him and she did, every day onwards.  When Hawkmoth’s face appeared in thousands of black butterflies, Cat was suddenly less sure of everything he had told his Lady, though. Then, watching her stand up to Hawkmoth and purify those akumas was a sight to behold. That was the moment he fell in love with Ladybug.

And then there was Marinette. She came into her life on the same day he fell for Ladybug, but until he accepted that he and LB would never be together without knowing each other’s identity, he’d never thought of her as any more than a great friend. Until he’d fallen for Marinette, he hadn’t considered that he might have a ‘type’, but both were incredibly similar. He was attracted to plucky, determined and creative women with midnight hair, bluebell eyes, and cute freckles.

While he was thinking about Marinette, how did she know about his pep talk with Ladybug? It was never on the Ladyblog, no TV cameras caught the moment. Unless Ladybug herself told her about it. He wanted to ask her about it that evening but knew that doing so would require more explanation than it would yield answers.

And then there were the nicknames. Only two people called him ‘Chaton’, ‘kitty’ and ‘minou’; Ladybug and Marinette. He knew they weren’t exactly a stretch, given his feline form, but it was still odd.

Unless.

No.

Could she..?

No.

»»————-————-««

6th April

[23.00] Alya: Tomorrow. Lunch. Bears and Raccoons. 12pm. No excuses!!!

[23.01] Marinette: Cool. Got to leave by 2, that ok?

[23.01] Alya: Yeah, no problem.

[23.02] Marinette: À demain!

»»————-————-««

[23.00] Nino: Dude, I have news. Please tell me you’re free for lunch tomorrow?

[23.00] Adrien: Oh, the intrigue! Yeah, I should be free. I’m doing a charity fashion show for Gabriel in the evening, but don’t have to be there until 4pm.

[23.01] Nino: Haha! I like to keep you guessing ;)  Does 12 work for you?

[23.01] Adrien: Sounds good to me. Where?

[23.02] Nino: Do you know Bears and Raccoons? On Rue Richard Lenoir.

[23.02] Adrien: Love that place!

[23.03] Nino: Same here. I totally know what I’m having already.

[23.03] Adrien: Bro, you’re making me hungry!

[23.04] Nino: I make no apologies. See you tomorrow :)

[23.05] Adrien: À demain!

»»————-————-««

7th April

“Hey,” Adrien waved to Marinette as she entered the cafe. “Are you meeting Alya and Nino too?”

“Yes. I thought I was late, but if I’m not the last here, I count that as on time.” She grinned, pulling up a seat next to him.

“So, how have you been?” He asked awkwardly.

“Good, thanks. You?”

“Fine.” Oh God, why was this so difficult? He’d been hanging out with Marinette a couple of times a week recently so why was it so strange? “Um, I meant to thank you, actually.” “Really? What for?” She asked.

“For keeping quiet about my visit to your place. I don’t think Nino would ever let me forget it if he knew I turned up at yours, cried, threw up, then fell asleep in your bed.” He looked at her, “I can’t believe you slept on the floor.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. You repaid the favour when you carried me up to Alya’s apartment, I doubt they’d have got me up the stairs without you.” She said.

Silence fell between them and they smiled at each other. The self-consciousness he felt when she arrived had dissipated and they relaxed into each other’s company. When Nino and Alya arrived, ten minutes later, giggly and red-faced with wrinkled clothing, Adrien and Marinette shared a knowing look.

“You guys are about a subtle as a brick to the window, you know,” Marinette said.

“Now, now. Just because you’re not getting any, doesn’t mean you can hate on us.” Alya arched an eyebrow.

“Well, actually…” Marinette started to say. “No. You’re right, I can’t begrudge you getting yours. I know it’s been a while since anyone scratched my itch.”

Adrien swore she gave him a sideways glance at that. He knew the suit’s limitations were leaving him frustrated, but he had never considered that Marinette felt the same. He didn’t trust himself not to give away his identity if he de-transformed with her, no matter what safeguards he put in place. The times he and Ladybug had de-transformed in front of each other were risky enough, but to do it with a civilian? No, he wouldn’t.

“Anyway.” He said loudly, changing the subject, “shall we order so you guys can tell us why we’re here?”

“Good idea.” Nino agreed.

The two men went to the counter to order sandwiches for the table. Marinette insisted on pushing a €10 note into his hand, in spite of Adrien’s best attempts to treat her. Once they were all back at the table, they poured their drinks. Nino and Alya each had a beer, while Marinette and Adrien drank sparkling water.

“Ok, so the reason we asked you two here today,” Alya said, “is because Nino and I are getting married.”

Squealing commenced. Mostly from Marinette, but Adrien was secure enough in his own masculinity to admit that he also squee-ed. Next to him, Marinette was firing questions at the couple.

“When? Where? Are you having toasts somewhere? What are you thinking for the dress?” She asked. Adrien couldn’t help but watch the freckles on her nose as her face crinkled with excitement.

“Ok, calm down girl.” Alya laughed. “In a month from now, the Mairie here in 11eme arrondissement, yes, but we haven’t decided where yet - mum wants to cater the party so we’ll probably do it at our place if we can squeeze everyone in. And, I was going to ask you to take care of the dress, if you have the time?”

“I have so many ideas.” Marinette grabbed a notebook from her bag and started scribbling a couple of initial sketches. Adrien could think of a few designs she had shown him three nights ago that would suit Alya’s body shape. He made a mental note to point them out to Marinette next time he visited as Cat Noir.

“Congratulations, man.” He said to Nino as they fist-bumped. “I’m so happy for you.” And, he was. Sure, he fleetingly felt like the world was moving forward with their lives while he kept treading water, but he was genuinely chuffed for his friend.

“Thanks, bro. I was hoping you’d be my witness. What do you say?” Nino said.

“Of course!” Adrien beamed, “I’d be honoured.”

“And, obviously, I want you to be mine, Mari,” Alya added.

“Really?” She looked up from her notebook. “I’d love to. Thank you.” She looked overwhelmed, like she was trying not to cry with happiness. Adrien knew how she felt.

Their sandwiches arrived and the four tucked into lunch. Chattering happily about wedding plans and Adrien’s fashion show that night, time moved quickly until Marinette got up to leave. Glancing at the time, he decided he should go too. He was required at the runway rehearsals at 4pm and his father wouldn’t tolerate tardiness. He decided to order a couple of lattes to go while Marinette packed her notebook in her bag and hugged her friends goodbye.

They stepped out of the cafe together and Adrien handed Marinette one of the coffee cups. She took it gratefully, admitting that she’d pulled a few late nights to get a design finished. They reached the end of the street and the Gorilla was waiting in the limo.

Her face lit up when he asked, “can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“Um, well, I’m going as far as Rue de Lisbonne/Rue Rembrandt but just drop me wherever is convenient.” She said.

They were headed to practically the same location so Adrien settled into his seat.

“It’s great news, Nino and Alya, tying the knot.” He observed.

“Absolutely.” She agreed. “They’re a great team.”

“I know Alya’s going to have the greatest wedding dress ever.” She smiled at that. Emboldened, he continued. “I bet you’ve already got a hundred designs that would fit the bill as a wedding dress.”

“But only a month to pull it all together.” She frowned.

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Mari.” He realised he had his hand on her shoulder and he removed it.

She opened her mouth to say something, then appeared to change her mind. She bit her lip and searched his face. Unsure what he’d said to prompt this study, he tried to keep his face impassive.

“I thought this would be more awkward.” She finally said. “You and I have barely spoken in over two years until recently so it should be weird. It’s not, though. It’s like chatting with an old friend.”

Conscience pricked at him and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He had a unique perspective on these matters, but it wasn’t one he was willing to share.

Gorilla pulled up on the corner of Rembrandt and Lisbonne and Marinette thanked them both for the ride before getting out and walking smartly into the street and out of view.

»»————-————-««

Walking towards Rue de Courcelles, Marinette felt an unfamiliar weight in her bag. Snapping it open, she found two kwamis in an embrace.

“Guys. Your enduring love is adorable and all, but you’re going to break my purse at this rate.” She whispered. “Adrien’s going to be looking for you, Plagg.”

“So what?” He floated up and settled into the collar of her jacket. “You’re both going to the same place.”

“We were just discussing how successful your campaign to mess with Adrien is.” Tikki added and settled into the other side of her collar.

“Please. I’m feeling really bad about it all now.” She admitted.

“Not at all. You could go bigger if you like.” Plagg said. “You’ve got him squirming. He’s wondering how much he might have given away about his identity. Plus, he’s in a tizz over the whole thing about how you weren’t over him until Cat Noir kissed you. He thinks he cock-blocked himself.”

“Plagg!” Tikki admonished. Marinette just laughed.

“I just, I still don’t understand why he was so upset about my friendship with Cat Noir when he knew all along that it was totally innocent.” She mused. It was the thing that was bothering her the most.

Plagg sighed. “Adrien’s life is strictly controlled, his father dictates every element of his schedule, even now. He had to behave a certain way in public because he’s the face of Gabriel Fashion.” “I know this, Plagg.”

“I know, but you don’t know what happened when he became Cat Noir.” Plagg continued. “He tasted freedom for the first time and he could be whoever he wanted to be. He let himself be the goofy, emotional, funny, unselfish, cocksure and heroic guy that was always there, under the surface. For him, Adrien and Cat Noir were opposite ends of the scale. He is both, but he struggles with that. If he had the choice, I honestly think he’d be Cat Noir forever and leave Adrien behind.”

A tear ran down Marinette’s cheek as the reality of Adrien’s situation hit home.

“He thought you liked Cat Noir more than you liked Adrien because that’s how he feels,” Plagg said.

“Thank you for explaining that to me, Adrien’s lucky to have you in his life,” Marinette told the black cat kwami.

“I know,” He purred, “Will you tell him that for me? I don’t think he realises how great I am.”

They reached the hotel where the fashion show was being held. It had a beautiful art deco ballroom that was being artfully lit when she’d popped in earlier that morning to show Gabriel her dress. They were starting to construct the temporary catwalk when she left for lunch so that should be ready to go by now.

Flashing her ID at the staff entrance, she wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of the hotel until she reached the staging area. Gabriel noticed her arrive and waved her over.

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, your dress is exquisite.” He told her. “Modern, elegant and unique. It’s more than I asked for.”

She blushed at the compliment. “Thank you, M. Agreste. I worked hard on it.” “There aren’t many young designers who can design and create and piece like this in such a short timeframe. You will be an asset to the fashion house that snaps you up.” He looked across the room and saw that the models were milling into the ballroom. “Ah, time to get started.”

Marinette grabbed her notebook from her bag and opened it at a fresh page. She stayed a few paces behind Gabriel, trying to blend into the background. He stood tall, hands behind his back and waited until the assembled models fell silent. She was in awe of the respect he commanded. She knew he had a reputation of being a difficult man to get along with, and she knew, now more than ever, how oppressive Adrien found his home life, but Gabriel had revealed a more caring side to her and she felt compelled to prove herself worthy of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gabriel spoke. “May I take this opportunity to thank you all for giving your time to such a worthy cause. This may be a charity event, but we owe it to the audience to make sure it is a slickly run, professional show. I ask each of you to pay attention to Nathalie as she explains the running order, then get acquainted with the dresser you have been assigned. We will have a run through at 5pm sharp, but you will not wear the outfits until the show proper at 9pm. Please ensure you avail yourself to your dresser for fitting, if your pieces require alteration I’d prefer that was dealt with sooner rather than later. Nathalie? If you will.”

At that, he turned on his heel and walked back to the backstage area. Marinette followed. A smattering of applause followed them as they went. She saw a group of familiar faces huddled in the corner of the room.

“Ah, your team is here, Miss Marinette.” Gabriel gestured towards the group. “Students from ESMOD, here to lend a hand with alterations and dressing.”

He handed her a list of names. Model’s names in one column matched to a student in another. She looked at a row of mirrored tables lining the back of the area, each chair had a name taped to it. Plan in place, she approached her peers and cleared her throat to get their attention.

“Everyone? Thank you for so generously agreeing to volunteer your time tonight. I promise it will be a valuable experience. Getting behind the scenes at a fashion show is what we live for, right?” This was met by chuckles from most of the team. “I have here a list of the models each of you will be required to dress. Please take a moment to locate their makeup chair here,” she waved towards the bank of lights and mirrors, “and their outfits here.” She pointed to racks of clothing on the opposite wall.

Earnest nodding and note-taking answered her. She smiled at the awed eagerness of her classmates, it was an emotion she recognised in herself every time she was backstage at the Palais de Garnier.

“Let’s keep access to the catwalk free, ok? Only use that area for quick changes. I suggest you watch the rehearsal at 5pm and take notes. You need to know when your model is due to walk and what they should be wearing. In the meantime, your model should come and find you for final fittings. If you have items that need to be altered, let me know and we can share the workload. Yes?” She said.

“Yes!” The group echoed back at her. She lifted the list and started reading. As each student heard their own name and their model counterpart, she was pleased to see them split from the group to find their assigned makeup chair and selection of outfits.

“Lucinda?” She called, “you will be dressing Claudine. Marc? You will be dressing Paul. Agnès, you have Zoe. Adam, you’re dressing Axel. Leo’s with Hugo. Léonie, you’ve got Mimi. Honoré, you have Chantelle. Estée has Fay… and I will be dressing Anaïs… and Adrien.”

She finished as the models were ushered into the staging area. They were hesitant, not sure how things were going to work so Marinette grabbed a chair and readied herself to climb on it. Adam and Agnès, two of her best friends at ESMOD, took her hands and helped her ascend the chair gracefully.

“Hi, everyone? My name is Marinette, I’m coordinating the backstage effort tonight. Please, go to your allocated makeup chair and your dresser will come and introduce themselves to you. I’m sure you understand that time is of the essence when it comes to alterations so do assist your dresser by making that a priority. I ask that you try on your pieces before the rehearsal so that we can ensure that everything looks awesome on you for the final show. Thanks.” She looked at her friends and smiled.

Agnès grinned back at her and placed her hands on Marinette’s hips. She supported herself on Agnès’s shoulders as the blonde lifted her off her makeshift stage.

“Thanks for arranging this, Mar,” her friend said. “It’s the most amazing experience. We’re all stoked.”

“You know me, I like to share the love when I can.” Marinette joked.

Agnès’s eyebrows quirked.

»»————-————-««

Adrien wasn’t sure who he was maddest at, his father for not telling him that Marinette would be at the fashion show (running things backstage, no less), Marinette for not thinking to mention it on the limo ride across town, or the tall blonde girl whose arms Marinette was currently laughing in.

She said tall blondes were her ‘type’ and this girl fit the bill. “Jealousy’s a bitch”, he’d said the other night and yet, here he was, envious of the girl who was holding Marinette in her arms. He watched her doodle something in her notepad before ripping out the page and folding it up. Marinette slipped the paper in her friend’s jeans back pocket and slapped her ass as she walked away. The girl took the note out, unfolded it and laughed, then carefully refolded it and placed it back in her pocket. Whatever had passed between them, they were obviously close and once more, Adrien was reminded of how much he was no longer a part of her life.

He found his makeup chair, wondering which fashion student would be his dresser. It looked like males were dressing males and vice versa, but a quick count suggested they were one short. Perhaps he’d be with the classmate Marinette dated. He tried to work out which of the two blonde males in the group was Adam.

Snap out of it, Adrien. Be professional. He scolded himself. He knew Plagg would have some choice words if he knew about his jealousy. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen his kwami for a while…

“Hi, I’m Marinette, I’ll be dressing you tonight.” He watched as she introduced herself to Anaïs, the stunning redhead seated next to him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to check that your outfits all fit. Would you like to come with me?”

She was incredibly competent at this job, even though he was sure his father had thrown her in at the deep end. Gabriel adopted a ‘sink or swim’ approach to mentoring and liked to observe how his trainees coped in difficult situations.

A hand on his knee got his attention. “Earth to Adrien,” Marinette smiled, “I’m dressing you as well so as soon as I’ve sorted out Anaïs, I’ll be back for you, ok?”

As soon as her back was turned, he fist-pumped the air in celebration. It was an inopportune time for his father to look his way.

Gabriel’s mouth curled into a knowing smile. It was deeply disconcerting.

[unesortiearaincouver-blog]

Day 3

Tuesday, March 13th, 2018.

In Hispanic and Greek culture, a Tuesday the 13th is considered a day of bad luck just like Friday the 13th is for many, many others. If you like to randomly Google search things like I do, I suggest that on your next one, you just simply type “Tuesday the 13th”.  The results will show how, too, in other countries like Spain and Argentina, this date is also considered a misfortunate one.

I am not really a superstitious person so when I saw the date right before hitting the alarm’s snooze option once again, I really did not even make the connection that the day’s date meant bad luck.

I continued to sleep until Joha came out of the bathroom and I realized I had practically no time to get ready in a peaceful manner, like every woman likes to (or so I want to believe). For a moment, I finally made the connection of why the date seemed so oddly controversial and I just hoped it was far from being true. With my heart skipping a beat every now and then, I managed to shower and get ready, breaking a new personal timing record.

My amazing roommate had left already to get us breakfast and the group was already on its way to our first appointment of the day, the offices of Tourism Vancouver. I quickly pulled a power walk to catch up with everyone, as I visualized the streets of Vancouver in my head trying to figure out the best shortcut, and always keeping an eye on the extensive group of people dressed in a business attire making their way downtown. I kept hoping that all the pedestrian lights would turn green every time I reached a corner, and every time they would.  

After walking faster enough to make my legs sore already, I caught up with the group on West Cordova St., right on time. After all, it seemed that luck was on my side and it just had been a rough wakening. Got to blame it on the Four Seasons bed, am I right?

Tourism Vancouver

9:00 a.m.

Suite 210 – 200 Burrard St., Vancouver, BC

The Tourism Vancouver presentation, mainly in charge of the Client Manager, Susan Graham, gave us an insight and a better understanding of how unionizing sales efforts and marketing strategies, assuage both Tourism Vancouver and the hospitality industry of the city to help each other to attract hundreds of thousands of dollars in revenue when they get all types of markets to visit Vancouver. It was interesting to listen at how Tourism Vancouver also serves as an intermediator that canalizes and sends information where needed to create the perfect business relationship: match the right customer with the right provider at the right time.

While on the meeting, I had accidentally dropped my sugar package on the latte that Joha had kindly gotten me but I did not consider that to be bad luck as it had been pure clumsiness from my end. It actually felt as if I had luck on my side as I had managed to make it on time after a crazy, hectic morning. That being said, I wanted to be able to confirm or not whether the so-infamous reputation of the day was true, so I initiated a little game to test it out. So far, the initial scoreboard’s points looked like this:

Erika 1 – 0 Bad Luck

Vancouver Convention Center

10:00 a.m.

1055 Canada Place, Vancouver, BC

The Vancouver Convention Center is an award-winning facility known as one of the leading convention centers worldwide. The facility has two main buildings, the East Building and the West Building, and combined, it creates 466,500 square feet of meeting, exhibition, function, ballroom, and theatre space. It was designed to simultaneously cater many events, which makes it a venue with the facility of attracting over 500 events and hosts hundreds of thousands of attendees a year.

It was inaugurated in 1987 and it has been generating huge amounts of economic profits for the Province ever since, by promoting Vancouver as a hot destination for memorable and sustainable experiences.

The venue was awarded the world’s first double LEED Platinum Certified Convention Centre. Many of their constant efforts to be sustainable include:

- The roof is actually a living one that is home to beehives that help pollinate the plants on it

- A black water treatment plant recycles grey and black water from washrooms that is used for rooftop irrigation

- Natural light and ventilation are top priorities that are maximized throughout the entire venue

- They take advantage of the seawater for the cooling and heating of the facility

I probably could not give Rod MacLean, our site tour host, enough credit for the amazing job he did at explaining all about this place.

Fly over Canada

11:15 a.m.

201 – 999 Canada Place, Vancouver, BC

A fun ride. Short, but fun.

With the use of state-of-the-art technology, the ride features 8 minutes of a journey across Canada. The flying experience included wind, mist, and different smells that added to the natural and urban landscapes of this great country.

Tip: always look to the front. You do not want to spoil this flying experience by looking to the side and realizing you can watch your dangling feet’s reflection through the projectors’ screens. Whoops, I guess I just spoiled it for you.

After a safe landing, we had time to go grab lunch on our own. And as we were off schedule once again, Joha and I decided to grab pizza by the slice nearby. We made a quick stop at a Starbucks to use the bathroom – and get some iced chai tea latte, and then we carried on with our quest of feeding ourselves and not having to suffer from hunger like the previous day.

But maybe the 13ths that happen to land on a Tuesday actually do mean bad news. As we were coming back from the pizza place to attend the next appointment on schedule, we felt pretty confident on our knowledge of the city and decided to proceed without the use of any GPS. Very similar to “Marshall vs. the Machines”, if you are familiar to the show How I Met Your Mother. To our surprise, we discover that in our specific case, the machines were much more powerful than our own human knowledge. We got lost. And by the time we figured out where the Fairmont Waterfront Hotel was, we were about 30 minutes late already.

Tip No. 2: always rely on Google Maps, the human mind is treacherous.

Oh, and the scoreboard?

Erika & Joha 1 – 1 Bad Luck

Site Tour Fairmont Waterfront Hotel

1:00 p.m. (or 1:30 p.m., if you will)

1038 Canada Place, Vancouver, BC

The Fairmont Waterfront Hotel was astounding and very neat. With outstanding West Coast panoramic views, the hotel had a completely different feel from Fairmont Hotel Vancouver even if both possessed the Fairmont’s signature friendly attitude of service.

The hotel’s guestrooms are categorized in the Fairmont Room, Fairmont Terrace Room, Deluxe Partial Harbor View Room, Signature Harbor View Room, and Signature Harbor View Corner Room; but I am sure that if you were to stay at the property it would not matter which guestroom, you would still enjoy of some outstanding views and world-class luxury and comfort. The suites include the West Coast Suite, Vista Suite, Garden Suite, Royal Suite, and Harbor View One- bedroom and Two-bedroom Suites.

The property features a heated outdoor pool with a view, a herb garden that is also home to beehives, a health club, as well as Guest and Business Services. Yes, it is essential to mention that this hotel is also pet friendly! Hooray!

The dining options include the on-site ARC Restaurant that features urban artisan food, the ARC Bar with live music every night of the week, and In-Room dining.

As for function spaces, the hotel is well-known for catering events like weddings and meetings to perfection. The property has function rooms in 4 levels: the lobby, level 3, level 2, and the concourse level with a total of 12 rooms which are a combination of foyers, ballrooms, boardrooms, suites, and function rooms. The Waterfront Ballroom is the biggest meeting space of the property by being able to host 788 guests.

The hotel was a little louder in comparison to the ones we had previously visited but it did not seem to affect the classy and upscale environment nor seemed to affect any of the guests. The décor was high-toned and compelling.

When the tour site ended, we headed back to the Four Seasons and Raincouver finally started to show its true colors with its grey skies forecasting an intense rainfall. Afraid that it could rain at any moment now and having acknowledged that I, of course, had left my umbrella at the hotel, I was ready to accept my beginner’s bad luck and give in to the scoreboard’s new numbers but, and to my surprise and relief, I made it to the hotel safe and dry. 

Erika 2 – 1 Bad Luck

Granville Island Brewery

4:00 p.m.

1441 Cartwright Street, Vancouver, BC

Having changed outfits and relaxed for a little, Hafdís, Joha, Max, and I took a cab to Granville Island and walked around while we waited for the rest of the group to arrive. The next thing on our itinerary was to pay a visit to the famous Granville Island Brewery.

Once the group was reunited, we were divided into two so one group could tour the brewery while the other got to do some beer tasting.

My group got to do the tasting first, so we were soon walked into a little, cozy tasting room, where we sat at a family-style table, and were placed 3 tasters of 5oz each in front of us. A very nice lady explained to us what we had right before our eyes, and we were encouraged – or rather peer-pressured – to drink up as she spoke.

Our tasters featured the Sunshine Coast Hefeweizen, the Lions Winter Ale, and the Infamous IPA. I have enlisted them in the order in which I liked them best as I discovered that the lower the beer’s IBU, the more likely my palate was going to be able to tolerate it. That explains why the Hefeweizen’s IBU of 15 won over the IPA’s infamous IBU of 55.

Right after my group had drunk up, it was our turn to tour around the brewery to see how the beer that our stomachs had in store now had been initially made.

And although I am not a beer fan, it was an overall nice and pleasing experience.  

Bistro 101

6:00 p.m.

Pacific Institute of Culinary Arts

101 – 1505 West 2nd Avenue, Vancouver, BC

Bistro 101 is the equivalent of TRU’s Accolades Dining Room but for the Pacific Institute of Culinary Arts.

We even got to tour the back of the house and observe the dynamic of the classrooms and working spaces of the soon-to-be professional chefs that attend the Institute.

The restaurant features a Market Menu and a West Coast Buffet, but for our group they had arranged a 3-course dinner, very similar to the dynamic we followed at Cin Cin. 

The sitting arrangement was kind of sad as the group got separated into two different tables but we all seemed to be fine with it.

It was nice to see another extensive Wine Menu until you realize there is too many options and the situation turns overwhelming. I ended up going for a glass of (White) Cliffhanger, an off-dry and nice white blend of Viognier, Gewürztraminer, and Pinot Gris.

From our dinner menu I chose the Potato, Bacon & Corn Chowder as my appetizer, Ling Cod as my entrée, and the passionfruit + Kalamansi for dessert.

This was our last meal together as a group and with which we concluded our official appointment-part of the itinerary. I can say it went quite smoothly and very lowkey as everybody was starting to realize how exhausting and hectic the city life can be – and yet still the most exciting, in my opinion.

After we figured out the billing chaos (something that I was definitely not going to miss from the trip), we took a cab back to the hotel.

Some of us concluded the trip at Celebrities, on 1022 Davie St., where my Tuesday the 13th’s bad luck made a small appearance when at the end of the night I realized that I had cracked my phone’s screen. What a game it had been.

The final scoreboard:

Erika 2 – 2 Bad Luck

A draw…

The rest shall remain a mystery. 

[pkhentz]

Advent Reflections, 2017 (Pt. 2)

Hope

On the Sunday C was baptized, two infants were also baptized: L and S. Our pastor really dug into their names as useful guides for the congregation: L, named from Princess Leia in Star Wars, who hoped, and worked to actualize that hope; S, named for Professor Snape in Harry Potter, who clung to love as a guiding force through darkness; and CB, whose panther namesake was brave and a true friend. Hope, I think, is one of those foundational virtues. We cultivate hope in Advent to fortify ourselves to live the life we are called to live.

Justice

God's justice is a hard idea to think about. I can get angry and motivated by justice, but when I stop and think, it always gets tangled and hard to manage. Part of why I love what I do is that I feel like I am able to fight for a more just world, teaching kids who haven't been given a fair shake -- being the change I wish to see in the world. But the unjust succeed so often. I remember having a long debate with Aunt C once, and she felt that hope was always present, that justice, eventually prevails. I doggedly insisted that the Holocaust proves that justice can go awry, and hope can fail. In the face of injustice, like Job, I can only turn back to awe at a world, and a God, that is much greater than I can understand.

Neighbors

I like my neighbors. Except one. She has a Lexus and a black pick-up truck, and is usually scowling. Her carport is right in front of our door, and she always rotates her cars so that the car that is not in the carport gets one of the two primo uncovered spots in the lot. And she grumps about Remy peeing on (or even near) her cars. I guess I can grant not wanting pee on your car, but I can't see getting that upset about it. Anyway, we work to keep Remy far from her precious cars, and she gives us the stink-eye all the time. I should work to be kinder to her.

Strength

For our wedding, we chose Eucharistic Prayer C, which the pastor says he calls "The Star Wars prayer," because of its references to "the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home" (which seems more a Star Trek sentiment, but I digress). Among the nuggets we really like about the prayer, though is this one: "Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this Table for solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal." Advent, like the communion table, is an experience of God breaking into the world, and this should not simply leave us where we are. We should be fortified for the work ahead, of trying to widen this incursion of the divine into the world.

Wisdom

When I first read Ecclesiastes (in my Good News translation -- in my memory, I was sitting in the car outside the Lake Mary Community Center, after having helped take down the signs and put away the worship materials, and been done with fellowship), it was very, very troubling to me. The author of Ecclesiastes had everything, and especially wisdom, and called all of it vanity. I've returned to Job more often in my life, but despite the sunny pop echoes in those verses that became "Turn! Turn! Turn!" Ecclesiastes has that same bleak core. Vince Amlin touches on it in the devotional: "Who are you to be build me a home?" We have to try to be wise, to judge rightly, but we need to know that all of our decisions can turn out badly. The world God created is big, and we do not really have dominion over it. The baseball analysts I follow talk about "Process over results" -- you do things the right way, and you compare players and teams based on process, because the results can be quite random. If you are looking forward, you bet on the process, but when you look backwards, the results aren't always what you expected.

Steadfast

This is where steadfastness comes in. It is better to try to be wise than to forego wisdom for foolishness. It is better to try to do the right thing than to give in to nihilism. I try to discern what I should do, who I should be, and I faithfully try to be steadfast, and to keep my eyes on the prize.

Patience

Patience usually comes easily to me, and if anything I worry that it comes too easily. I mean, I get impatient at slow talkers, and indecisive drivers, and meetings of all kinds. But for many things, I have learned to wait and not allow tomorrow's worries to infect today. What I worry about, though, is what sort of virtue patience is. When is patience just inaction? The novel The Last Temptation of Christ starts out with the land of Israel crying out, "How long?" The arc of history bends towards justice, but oh, so slowly. You wait patiently for a plant to grow and bloom, but it is no virtue to stand by, inactive, while preventable injustice happens. Deciding which is which, of course, is the hard part.

Joy

Joy I have a harder time with. Probably, it is because I usually am not aware of joy while it happens. I look at the bright side, and I have my quiet enjoyments, but I am not one who bubbles over with joy. In the last few weeks of school, I had a number of students, hearing me laugh, say: "That's the first time I've heard you laugh!" I get that every year around this time, and it always breaks my heart a bit. Once we hit and pass that part of the school year when I have to crack down and re-establish expectations and routines, from then on it is hard to cultivate the joy of each others' presence, where we can both realize it. It happens in fits and starts, but is hard to hold on to. And it is hard to remember each other's genuine laughter.

Generosity/Generous

I can't remember which form of the word was on the list for today. When I saw it, I was all set to write about the Indo-European root "gen-/ken-" which is the root for "generate," "genetics," "knowledge," and a whole cluster of other words. But then, I looked at the actual origin for "generous," and saw it traces back to that root, but in between had a detour into "genos" or "race." It comes from the Middle French idea of nobility, of having "good blood" or "good breeding." That sent me down a whole rabbit hole about Nietzsche. He wrote about how what is "heroic" are the "noble" virtues of emptying yourself, about amassing treasure to liberally distribute it. To always show worthiness through overcoming challenges. In anthropology, we read about how the virtues of capitalism, self-sacrifice for the purpose of saving and investing and continually growing, were seen by contemporaries as "demonic" -- a peasant who worked hard to cultivate extra acres to accumulate enough money to invest in more animals or workers or machines to improve production could be said to "Have the Devil riding on his back." Christianity, as C.S. Lewis says, is always like listening to a wireless broadcast from the Resistance. In the ancient times of noble virtues, Christ points out that no one's blood is better than anyone else's, that there is no Divine Right to authority by birth. Similarly, Christ points out that one ought not to store one's wealth in granaries and barns, but give it away. Christian generosity is not giving to those lesser than you so that they will be loyal and acknowledge your superior birth, but to try to imitate the sun and rain, which shine and fall on the unjust and the just alike. Hm. This is incoherent, but a fair enough record of where I have been going as I wrestle with this word this morning.

Rejoice

This is an imperative. And it is an imperative only God can give. I cannot tell anyone to rejoice -- they feel the joy, they can find the joy, or they can't. I can help bring joy to people, I can help people look for their joy, but I cannot tell them, "Oh, be joyful!" Have you seen the Jeb Bush "Please clap" clip? It is an internet meme now, for dejection. When I think of "Oh, be joyful!" I think of the father of the prodigal son, throwing a party. Not everyone felt joy, and he went to his other son to invite him to the party, but the call to joy was a magnanimous call from a host to guests. A lot of times, calling for others to be joyful is the guy who tells a woman to smile, or asking a grieving parent to imagine their child in heaven... Pain is real, and God calls us to be joyful, but power is real, and I cannot misuse whatever power I have to demand a performance of joy from others. "How can we sing a song of Zion in a foreign land?" I hear God's call to be joyful, and I try to respond. I try to spread joy, but I honor and respect the pain of others, that makes joy difficult.